


Devourer of Dragons

by JediOfTheReach



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon Character Dragonborn, Coven of Namira - Freeform, F/M, Forsworn, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10329329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediOfTheReach/pseuds/JediOfTheReach
Summary: Witchmen. Cannibals. Cultists. Daedra-Worshipers. Theses two are definitely not the saviors Tamriel needs, but, unfortunately, they're the only ones it's got. Who can devour a dragon's soul? What, or who, is the darkness in the heart of Sheor? And do the Old Gods even listen to their children's prayers? Only an agent of Namira can answer.(A sometimes silly sometimes serious epic where the Coven of Namira have to save the world, featuring Dragonborn!Eola.)





	1. The Starving Coven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for cannibalism, vague gore, and violence, obviously, which will be a continuing theme in chapter notes for most chapters. A stranger shows up to deal with the 'monster' in the Markarth tombs.

Eola knew this crypt as if it was her childhood home. It almost had been, ages ago. Not hers of course--friends she knew, a game to play when times grew lean. Sneak into the city at night. Dare each other to go in. Dare one another to walk among the dead, to sit among the corpses, to listen to the quiet and the whispers at night and come out alive and unfrightened. Eola was good at this game. She always had been. She was of the Reach, and the Reachmen were always close to death, and to the Lady of Decay. Where her peers grew superstitious and fearful, she would enter the tomb boldly... and usually come out with some new trinket or coin--or a bruise when their keepers caught them. Reachmen did not wander the streets at night in Markarth. Children did not go into the Hall of the Dead alone.

Children did not eat the precious Nordic dead, either, but Eola had never been a normal child. Her family was too wild for that.

The Hall of the Dead had been closed for a week now. It wasn't entirely Eola's fault, to be fair. Not all the teeth marks on the bones were hers. She had not tasted every chewed-up corpse or stolen organ. Some were thieves or alchemists. Finding parts to sell, parts to grind, parts to make into powders and ointments. Others were like her, those who craved the flesh of the dead, who could not find it anywhere else. Others were simply animals, but Brother Verulus wouldn't believe that so easily. No, he thought there was a monster in the crypt. Quick, quiet, hard to see, snacking on the dead like a ghoul.

He was partly right. Only the ghoul was a Reachwoman, and she had a name. Regardless, he had not yet figured out that the creature was human. It might break his mind. She almost wanted to find him herself and show him the truth, if only to see his shocked reaction... before she stabbed him. And then briefly, very briefly, she wondered what a priest would taste like. Soft, perhaps. Fatty. Verulus had always lived a sheltered life.

The creak of a door interrupted the fantasy. Eola dropped the bone in her hand, quickly raised an Illusion spell over herself. If it was Verulus, best to surprise him, or keep him wondering. If it was someone else... Well, same thing. It was not safe to wander the halls alone, for cannibal or for the innocent. It didn't smell like Verulus, though. The priest smelled like embalming oil and incense, clean hair and citrus to mask the scent of man. He thought it smelled good no doubt. Eola thought it made him smell like easy prey, easily tracked. And so when the stranger smelled like none of these things, that interested her. Metal. Leather. Blood and grime. Smells she found far more pleasant. For a moment, she wondered if he had reopened the hall to visitors. _Damn_. It would mean she needed to find a new source of food... But then she heard the hiss of steel coming out of a scabbard, and a smile spread across her face.

Verulus had hired a mercenary. There was little doubt on this. However, Eola knew well that even the staunchest defenders of the law could be... malleable. A tinge of illusion, soothing words, and in time, any man or mer could be convinced of the glory of her Lady. Dark memories could be brought back. Mercenaries were very rarely innocent. She crept further into the gloom and cast a quick spell before she began to speak.

"Not many would walk blindly into a crypt, smelling of steel and blood, but not fear," The words echoed through the hall, amplified by the stone walls and the magic she had cast. The mercenary stopped walking, and she caught the sound of a short hiss as he sucked in a breath. She had certainly caught his attention, and so continued:

"I feel the hunger inside of you. Gnawing at you. You see the dead and your mouth grows wet. Your stomach growls." She softened her voice. "It's all right. I will not shun you for what you are."

"WHERE ARE YOU, WITCH?" a voice shouted. Nordic. Male. Interesting.

"I understand you. Stay." She paused, then finished with, "I will tell you everything you have forgotten."

Whether that convinced him or not, her spell would soon be up. She stood straight, and watched as he stumbled by her, not noticing the Illusioned woman as he ran further in--presumably searching for the source. She stepped out quietly, following up until she caught him at a dead end. Only then did he seem to notice the woman standing behind him. When he did, his eyes went wide.

"You were young when you first tasted human flesh, weren't you?" she asked, her voice calm. Not that it seemed to soothe him. "A brother or sister had died? An accident of course. Then the hunger set in. Curiosity. What's the harm in just one bite?"

He continued to stare, then stammered, "I am not a cannibal. You've been eating the dead--By the Nine..."

She flashed him a smile, as if they were old friends, inclined her head, and took a step closer. "It's okay, now. You've found a friend who understands you."

The mercenary didn't look convinced, though he did seem frightened. She could smell it on him. Fear, shock, perhaps even revulsion. She was used to this. As he began to shake slightly, she lowered her voice, taking on a soothing tone.

"You can let go of your guilt," she prompted, seeing his grip on his sword loosening.

"Guilt?" he asked, his expression confused. "I am not guilty of anything."

"A lot of our kind block out the memory of their first meal. The shame is too much. But you don't need to hide anymore. Namira, the Lady of Decay, accepts you for what you are. She has a place for us, where we can sate our appetites without judgment."

"The Lady of..." He froze, then seemed to gather his wits again. "I worship no Daedra!"

He punctuated this with a jab of the sword, but at this point, Eola was ready. She danced back, and threw out a hand to the air. With an unholy crack, her magicka ripped into the fabric of the world, and a portal to Oblivion opened, letting a fire atronach float out. As it set to work firing at the mercenary, Eola drew her own blade, cursing inwardly. It was a pity, to lose this man to violence. Pity and foolish. Had he come with her, she would have accepted him. Had he simply listened, perhaps he could be cured of the lies the world spun at him. But the Nord chose death over cooperation. As he roared and flung himself at her, she swung her sword at his arm and stopped the blade short. As he screamed and fell, clutching the mangled arm, she followed with a cut to the throat. The man gurgled as he died.

"I hate this," she murmured, then knelt beside him. No sense in wasting a fresh kill. She brushed hair from his face, briefly. "We could have been friends. There was so much you could have learned..."

But he was dead, and long past hearing. Sighing, she grabbed the embalming tools from the side of the crypt, setting to work with the curved blades on the man's flesh. They weren't as thick as carving blades, but they would do. As she peeled off a strip of flesh, she stuck it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Perhaps he was dead, but at least he was still useful. It had been a week since a good meal. The draugr infesting her normal eating place had made sure of that. She found herself eating more quickly, stripping the mangled arm of flesh until she was satisfied. She licked her fingers of the last bits of blood and fat, then stood up and smiled.

"Well. Brother Verulus will be happy to know his problems just got worse." She looked to the atronach, who couldn't have cared less. "Perhaps we will send you after him. Find out what charred priest tastes like."

In response, the atronach collapsed on itself, returning to Oblivion in a dash of flame... and leaving Eola alone with the dead Nord. She frowned into the darkness, then knelt again and began to work on the Nord alone. He was no good like this, blocking the paths to the dead, blood covering the walls. She would have to get rid of him quickly. What she could carry, she stuffed into a thick leather pack, and what she could not, she dragged over to one of the crypt's niches, and scattered the bones among the rest of the dead. With luck, Verulus would not notice until she was long gone. In all, the process took perhaps twenty minutes. Too long. He would wonder where his mercenary had gone. Eola summoned her remaining magicka, and cast the spell of illusion again. Run from here, past the guards, into the tunnels, over the walls and back to the wilds. There, at least, she would not have to worry about priests or draugr or dead men.

 

* * *

 

"You did what?" Banning asked, crossing his arms. "Eola, are you trying to get us all killed?"

"I only killed a mercenary," Eola answered, looking at her fellow Reachman entreatingly. She had called a group meeting here, at the Lover Stone. Few strangers came here, not with the threat of Forsworn so close by, so it made a good meeting place for the coven while they were pushed out of their normal haunt. "Not a Silver-blood. Just a common Nord. No one that will be missed."

Hogni's voice piped up, the older man's Nordic accent unmistakable, even in the dark. "I don't like it. Not one bit. People bury those dead in the crypts for a reason--to keep them safe. Someone's bound to notice."

Sanyon cut in, the Altmer's voice cool and calm as ever. "And we have spread the rumor that it is a monster. The curious will seek it out, and know our Lady. And those that don't... Well. What is some extra meat for the table?"

Another Nord's voice--Lisbet's--joined them. The shopkeeper was sitting by the stone, looking up at it. "Scraps of meat doesn't help us with meals. It only whets the appetite. I'm getting hungry, Eola. When can we eat? I'm almost ready to kill my servant."

Eola bit her lip, biting back a sigh. "I promise you all, we will have our home again. We must simply be patient. The Lady of Decay will see to us all."

"And when they start asking questions?" Hogni replied. "What do we do then?"

 _We kill them, and there is more meat for your stall_ , she thought, but instead replied, "We will reclaim our sanctuary, and rededicate it. I am waiting for a sign. When I find it, I will know that the God has called us back. We will fight our way to Namira's embrace together."

A few sighs passed around the circle. Some nodded. Others did not seem pleased. Lisbet in particular settled into a deep frown, and Banning's stare told her she would be hearing more about this after they had all left the circle of stones. Only Nimphaneth looked truly hopeful, a smile spreading across the Bosmer's face.

"I know you will find a way," Nimphaneth said. "The Lady has always spoken so clearly to you. If she has told you to have faith, what harm can there be?"

What harm indeed? She knew they were growing tired, feeling the pangs of spending too long between good meals, hiding small portions in the darkness and sneaking around the guards of the Reach. It wouldn't do for long. They needed Reachcliff Cave back--somehow. Eola dug her fingernails into her palm.

"Brother Verulus will tire of his hunt. When he lowers his guard, perhaps we can finish his vigil at last... But for now, when I call you, I will need you all to answer." She paused for a moment, looking at each face. None looked particularly happy. "There are many draugr in those caves. If any of you has a problem with fighting them, I will not judge you, though our Lady may not be pleased. Where is Sigar?"

Banning shrugged. "Out. Somewhere in the hills. You know how he is."

"Half-mad and better fed than all of us," someone muttered.

Eola shot them a glare, then took a deep breath before announcing her plan. "Those of you who will fight, I will need you to come with me to Reachcliff Cave when I give the signal. And come well-armed. These draugr are no easy prey."

"I'm out," Hogni muttered. "Won't see me fighting the bone-men. Not natural."

Lisbet sighed. "I don't fight, Eola, you know that... And if I don't open the store, I may actually have to kill Cosnach once and for all to quiet the rumors."

Sanyon and Nimphaneth fixed their eyes on Eola, glancing only once at each other. Sanyon spoke first. "We are with you, obviously. Unlike the others, Markarth is not our home. No one will miss us."

That left Banning. Eola turned to him, a pleading look in her eyes. The Reachman sighed, and kicked at the dirt. "I'm with you, Eola. Just... Give me some time. You want me to gather the dogs?"

She smiled, relief pouring into her expression. "If you want to."

His own smile widened. He gave her a nod. "I'll be there, with help."

"Good," Eola answered, her smile turning into a grin.

This was good. Sanyon's magic was powerful, and Nimphaneth's eyes quick and subtle. Banning was a good shot, of course, and his loyal hounds were trained to fight in battle. They could do this. With her magic and her weapons, she would lead them to the altar and reclaim their home for Namira.

"Then I will see you all when the time is right," she said. "I brought what was left of the mercenary. You are all welcome to share in the feast. Please, enjoy your meal..."

She gestured to the cut slabs of once-Nord, lying at the center of the circle, then turned away ad took a few steps down the hill. Her coven would be eating, talking the plan over, perhaps even changing their minds. She didn't need to be there for that. There was business to attend to in the northern cliffs. She got a few paces before she heard footsteps near her, and turned to see Banning walking alongside.

"And here I thought you'd be eating," she said.

He smiled and shrugged. "I had a good meal already, and besides, Hogni was bound to make some crack about Reachmen eventually. Figured I'd leave before he did."

"Wouldn't that be horrible..."

She trailed off, looking thoughtfully over the river. She could hear their voices, more distant now. She and Banning were now further down the hill, in a place where the standing stones made smaller dents against the stars. Her eyes searched the darkness for a while, before she sighed, bitterly.

"Sigar didn't come," she said. "I worry what that means."

"He probably didn't even know," Banning suggested. "Not like he lives in the city. No one'll take him after, well--" He stopped. Without glancing at him, she knew what he meant. Sigar had fared less well than the rest of the coven. He was a reminder to the others who lived in the city how closely they teetered between respectable citizen and scorned pariah. "He'll show up. You want me to help you look?"

She shook her head. "I have other ways of finding him. And I need to pay a visit to my old friends, and some relatives."

He winced, and an odd look touched his face--fearful, almost. "You mean the hagravens."

She nodded.

He began to speak again: "Eola, you know what that means. It's dangerous. You've got enough on your plate without getting back into all of that..."

"They're my family!" she hissed, and turned on him, wincing as the words rang a little too loudly. She lowered her voice. "They are my family. You, this coven, you are my responsibility now, but I will not spurn the few people who love me."

That hurt. She saw pain flicker across his face, and he drew back. Pain clutched at her chest, a brief moment of panic as she watched him think.

"Right," Banning said, nodding. "Well. Don't let me keep you."

Again, the pain. It ached a little more now, as she realized she had hurt him. She had few friends, and this was something she did not need. "Banning--

"If I see Sigar, I'll tell him the plan. But I should go before Cedran misses me."

"Alright," she whispered. The tone was soft, apologetic, but from the way he didn't quite meet her eyes, she could tell the wall was up. It was unlikely to come down again until morning. She ventured, "I'm sorry. Just-- the draugr. The cave. It all seems so-- ill-omened. I'm worried."

"So's everyone else," he muttered, then gave her a half-smile. It didn't seem entirely earnest. "Go to your hagravens, Eola. Get some sleep. You'll need it if you want to fight."

She nodded, but said little. As much as she wanted to apologize, she knew how little good it would do. They were all leaving now, filing away from the standing stones. Before Banning left as well, she called out, "Old Gods go with you."

He paused, sighed, then returned softly, "Old Gods go with you, too, Eola."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done with chapter 1! Chapter 2 is coming soon. It will take a couple chapters to get to the main quest content, as the Coven has to deal with their little sanctuary problem first. Next up: Hagravens and meddling priests.
> 
> I don't know why the tags are messed up or how to change them, AO3 keeps default adding 'freeform' and 'character' at the end. Oh well.


	2. Bile of Arkay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for cannibalism, gore, and violence, as always, plus general hagraven grossness. The Coven of Namira storms their home, and the Spirit Daedra names a Champion.

"Does the nibble wish to eat?" the hagraven said, claws raking through Eola's blonde hair. "You are getting thin, yes. Worn from worries and poor food."

Eola glanced up, smiling at the old Matriarch. "I am fine, Petra. Worry about your tower first. Melka knows what I want."

The other hagraven bustled in, a grin on her face. Melka's current smile was one that she only wore when she felt she was the favored 'mother'. Melka and Petra had never gotten along, not as long as Eola had lived with the Forsworn in Blind Cliff Bastion. They had been sisters once, before their transformation, and the change from human to hagraven had only intensified the rivalry she assumed they had held then.

"Yess, the girl knows well. She knows Melka's eyes see better than yours, oh foolish, spiteful, wicked sister," Melka crooned. If Melka noticed Petra's hiss of displeasure, she did not say, settling in by the table with her pile of scratched bones. "I read the ribs for you, morsel. Do you want to know what they say, yess? Pretty Eola wishes Melka's eyes to see for her?"

"Please," Eola said, a smile on her face. Melka was, in truth, her favorite here. The hag had given her an eye from her collection, when Eola had lost hers. The original eye was... somewhere in a jar, stacked in Melka's alchemy room. It was a ready gift for a Matriarch she owed much to.

Petra moved with a wheeze to the next room. "I will be speaking with the warriors, sister. Continue your silly games, by all means."

Melka watched her leave, then fixed her eyes on her favored Reachwoman. "Petra does not see, nibble. Does not see like you and I. Does not know Namira, and the love of rot and ugly things."

"But she does know how to fight," Eola said, a bemused smile on her face. "Maybe I will go to her next."

Melka gave a small shriek, then tossed the cracked ribs on the table. "Petra knows only to fight! Only to take! Only what Molag Bal gives! She is blind and does not know it. You will look here, you will see--" She paused, staring at the bones. "--Oh."

Eola raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The hagraven stirred only a little, twitching a finger over a long rib-bone. "I think my sister means to betray me... Yess, yes this is what this bone means. It speaks of betrayal and dominion." There came a long pause. "I think you can ignore this bone, nibble. It is not for you."

"Aww, but Melka, I care what happens to you," Eola tossed her a grin. "But how is Petra plotting betrayal any different from yesterday?"

Melka twitched, her feathers shaking. "Do not laugh. I see a long exile, yess... Taken from home. Home turned to unhome. Betrayals? Pushed out. A home invaded."

Eola nodded. "Reachcliff Cave. Draugr took it over."

"Or my pretty tower," Melka added glumly. She pushed around a pair of knucklebones with her talons, then ruffled her feathers and sighed. "It will be short. This one is broken, not very long. I think this is good. Good for you, nibble, not for Melka. Not for my pretty eyes and the home I worked so hard on, no, not for Petra and me. You will be home again soon."

"And the coven?" Eola asked, brightening. "Do you see anything about them?"

"Yes, yes, many pretty things, many ugly people, all together again. Very nice, many happy things, many sweet juices running down throats filled with flesh and bile." Eola smiled and went to hug the Matriarch, but the bird-woman stiffened. "Not yet! Not done! More bones to read!"

Eola let go, straightening her armor. "Sorry. Keep going."

"This is not the end for you, Reachling. Bones and stones and pretty fires, and much fresh blood and slaughter for you." She peered over the bones again, narrowing her eyes. "But be careful, morsel. I do not know why, but this bone is in your pile." She held up a thick, white cutting. "It is dragon-bone, pretty, not something seen in many years, yess. Only old ones still have pieces. It can be very powerful. You must watch yourself. Dragons were the first of the great beasts. There are old secrets where they lie, and great events that shake the world."

Eola nodded, slowly. "Secrets. Scary things. I'll remember, Melka."

Melka hummed and nodded, then looked over her bones once more, committing them to memory (Eola had memorized the head-tick she did while remembering things; it was something she had watched often), before sweeping them into her bag. "If you kill the Draugr, bring me something from them, hmm? A nice finger, or a pretty glowing eye."

Eola smiled, then stood. "I can do that. And when can we attack them?"

"Namira watches you, nibble. You may strike whenever you wish."

 

* * *

 

 There were five of them, in the end. Banning came with his dogs, as promised, a pair of them sniffing and baying at the the cliff's gaping entrance. Sanyon stood nervously to the side, his dark robes blending in with the shadows, while Nimphaneth stood silently in the deeper shadows, her eyes darting about as if she was eager to begin. A dirty blonde Nord sat by the standing stones, wearing nothing but rags--that would be Sigar, unearthed from gods knew where... or perhaps the Lady had simply called him here.

Eola smiled at each as they arrived, nodding to them. When they were all gathered, the group headed inside, the dogs leading the way. Everything, for a little while, was silent...

And then the first room. A shot of lightning from Eola took care of one of the draugr, before the hounds overwhelmed the second. Nimphaneth raised one of the undead bodies to follow along with them, while Sanyon gathered ingredients from the remaining one. Sigar, discontent to merely wait, let out a loud battle-cry and charged into the caves with only his dagger. The group followed behind, and the rest of the rooms fell with ease. Finally, all five cultists found their way to the inner sanctum, their faces and armors covered in blood that shone in the candles lighting the way.

"Be careful," Eola said, crouching as they drew closer. "Draugr lord is inside. Very tough, hard to kill. Banning--"

She turned to the other Reachman, who nodded to her. He had a serious look on, holding back the dogs who whined quietly at the scent of blood.

"--I need you to cover behind us. Sanyon and Nimphaneth can work their spells from afar. And Sigar..." She turned to the Nord with a warm smile, her scheme clear on her face. "I will need you to make a distraction."

The blonde Nord gave an enormous grin. "Not a problem, Eola. I will fight with all my heart."

She offered a small smile, then crouched low and breathed out slowly. "Three... two... one..."

She pushed open the door.

On the other side, the draugr lord sprawled in his throne, decaying flesh clinging to ancient armor and a greatsword that shone with a cloud of ice and frost coming off the rusted blade. When the door opened, it turned its head, slowly, spotting the group with its glowing eyes. Eola rose up to her full height, drew her sword, and shouted out, "NAMIRA GRIND YOUR BONES FOR OUR MEAL!"

The draugr lord made a sound like a rasp, or like thunder, deep in its throat, and stood up. Banning let go of the dogs, who tore into the room, followed by Sigar, the three of whom made a massive clamor of barking and battle-cries. The rest followed close behind. Sigar caught the draugr by the end of the table, proving to be a very loud and very violent distraction for the undead being. A few arrows bit into dead flesh as Banning took up the back, giving Eola the cover she needed to get in close.

The rumble in the draugr's chest grew louder, and he let out a sound like thunder and words--" _FUS!"_ \--that tossed Sigar back like a sack of meat. Eola took the opportunity to toss out another beam of lightning, which cracked as it hit the undead creature.

That got its attention, certainly. The draugr lord picked up its greatsword and headed towards her. _Delightful_. She grinned and shot another bolt of lightning at it, followed by a rapid cast of Oakflesh, the Alteration magic hardening her skin like treebark. Just in time, too. The draugr lord swung his greatsword, and she only barely had time to parry with her own one-hander.

"I will feast on your flesh and drink what is left of your blood!" she shouted.  The deep rumble began again, building up to another Shout. Before it could get there, a pair of arrows buried itself in the draugr’s throat. The rumble stopped, and it roared with rage as it swung its weapon towards her again. Eola caught it with a burst of flame, followed by a torrent of ice. The draugr’s flesh burned beneath it, and froze to brittle hardness. She gave it a kick, sending it back, and finished the creature off with a bolt of lightning that made the air between them crack and hum with electric shock. The draugr was little match for the magicka piled on top of its wounds, and expired with a last gasp of air. As it clattered to the ground, she searched the cavern, and caught Banning’s eye, still standing with his hand on the bowstring.

“You alright, Eola?” he asked.

She nodded, returning it gratefully. “Fine.” She looked down at the draugr and kicked it with her foot, her lip curling up in disgust. “Which is more than I can say for our infestation. But Namira grants us victory.”

She bent down, pulling the draugr’s weapon from its hands—enchanted, covered in ice, an ancient Nordic weapon. That could come in handy. At the very least, she thought, it would make a good trophy. She slung the weapon and its rotted sheath over her back, and approached the altar with its archaic statue—like an insect with many legs, with a woman’s face bearing pincers like tusks, and a body without form. The moment Eola’s foot touched the base of the pedestal, however, the room shook, and a powerful voice filled the room, emanating from what seemed to be both within her mind and from every corner of the space.

_"MY COVEN. I AM NAMIRA, YOUR LADY OF DECAY. YOUR PURSUIT AND DEATH-DEALING IN MY NAME IS PLEASING TO ME."_

Eola froze, her eyes wide. A quick glance at the rest of the coven, gathered around the room, showed that they too could hear the voice, and were similarly frozen in a mix of awe and fear.

“M-my lady?” she ventured, looking up at the statue’s face.

_"YOU WILL PREPARE A FEAST FOR MY CHAMBERS. RECONSECRATE MY SHRINE WITH THE BLOOD AND BILE OF ARKAY’S OWN, AND I WILL GRANT YOU MY BLESSINGS.”_

As the words echoed into silence, the room’s temperature changed, and the air grew thin again, as if the voice had conjured some storm that was now leaving. The rumbling echoes disappeared, and left the coven standing still, gawking at the face of their lady.

Then everyone began to move at once.

“The Lady spoke to you!” Nimphaneth began, staring at Eola with a look akin to adoration.

“Her voice… her voice like a paean…” Sanyon was murmuring, staring less at the coven and more at the shrine, his expression fixed in awe.

“It is a sign!” Sigar said, moving over to her with a bright grin. “Our fortunes are changing, Eola. They are changing. We have been given a great task—“

And then Banning was at her side as well, touching a hand to her arm nervously. “Eola,” he began, glancing between her and the shrine. “The 'blood and bile of Arkay’s own' can only mean one thing…”

“I know,” Eola said, nodding to both of them. “It means that Brother Verulus’s time in this world has come to an end. I will lure him here, but I will need help. You must all prepare the feast for when I return.”

The coven all nodded. She hung the greatsword over the back of the throne near the altar, collected her weapons, and grinned at them all.

“Fear not,” she said. “Soon we will feast in our own halls, among our own kin. I will give word to Hogni and Lisbet, so that they can join us. It will be a celebratory dinner like no other.”

Sanyon seemed to finally snap out of his trance-like state, giving her a wide-eyed nod. “We will wait for your return, Eola, and be ready for it.”

She smiled and made to slip out, but paused as she heard Banning caution her to ‘be careful’. She turned and flashed him a confident smile. “Afraid I am reckless? Namira granted me a task, and it will be done. You have nothing to fear.”

And with that said, she stepped through the door, and stepped with a light feeling and a quick gait towards the hidden exit to the outside world.

 

* * *

 

 Brother Verulus was easy prey for a practiced trickster. Eola was able to seduce him away from his post easily with words of riches to be had in the deep ruins, and of course pouting a bit and batting her eyes at the man helped—particularly when she insisted she needed his help above all. Very quickly, he was in her clutches, and happily following her back to the entrance of the cave.

She took him in the back way, brushing off his question about how easily she found the hidden entrance.

“You have little to fear,” she reminded him. “Remember, I scouted out much of this beforehand… I simply need a priest to reconsecrate the dead.”

He seemed mollified by this, if a little ill at ease with the blood staining the floor. “Are you certain this place is an old Nordic tomb? It has a sort of—“ Verulus paused. “—evil quality.”

“Do Draugr roam anywhere else?” Eola asked, smiling innocently as she held open the door to the sanctuary. The Imperial stepped through with only a quick sideways glance, but stopped short when he got inside and saw the strange dinner table, and the oddly familiar guests scattered around it.

“W-wait,” he stammered, looking around in confusion, then panic. “What is this?”

“Shh,” Eola cooed, moving around to face him. “My friends and I are just gathered for a little dinner. You can join us if you’d like.” She lowered her voice, summoning all the power that her Lady had given her to charm the man into a stupor. “I know you must be so hungry, and tired…”

“Y-yes.” Verulus’s eyes took on a glazed quality, and he murmured, “Yes, I was tired. And hungry. Yes, I will join you, but—a nap first… Some rest.”

“Of course,” she said, gently. She placed a hand on his shoulder and motioned towards the altar. “Look, there is a bed for you. Why don’t you lie down for a bit? We can wake you when we are ready to begin.”

“Yes, a bed… sleep…” Verulus stumbled towards the altar, oblivious to the slick blood coating the stone, or the obvious Daedric quality of its carving. He curled up on it, stretching out with a sigh, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the stone.

Eola wasted little time killing the man. A blow of a stone dagger to his heart, and he lay dead on the table. A few more quick cuts, and she splayed open the man’s ribs to get at the inner organs, peeling away skin and muscle to reach the best parts. She cut out the liver first, lifting it up to the statue in a gesture of praise before gobbling the organ nearly whole. As she swallowed the flesh and bile, the heaviness in the room returned, and all candles in the hall dimmed. The voice echoed again:

_"YOU HAVE DONE WELL. YOUR OFFERING AND CONSUMPTION OF THE DEAD TO ME IS PLEASING AS ALWAYS. BUT YOU HAVE DONE ESPECIALLY WELL IN THIS PLAN.”_

Eola looked up, arms covered in gore, as a ring materialized on her finger—flowing and strange, like the insectoid petals of the statue’s form—and held the jewel up to look at more closely.

 _"I GIVE YOU MY RING, AND NAME YOU MY CHAMPION,”_ Namira’s voice explained. “ _WEAR IT, AND WHEN YOU FEAST ON THE FLESH OF THE DEAD I WILL GRANT YOU MY POWER._ ”

“Thank you,” Eola whispered, eyes fixated on the piece of jewelry. The air cracked and returned to its old atmosphere at once, the lights returning to their full brightness, but even in the absence of the Daedra’s presence Eola felt a warmth and rush of tears to her eyes, breath caught tight in her throat. _Champion._ Namira had named the Reachwoman her champion, after all those years of serving her, of leading the coven, of fighting for the old gods in a land that no longer loved them—Eola was the Champion of Namira, and knew for certain that her god was grateful for her long efforts. She grinned brightly, then folded her hands around the ring, looking down at their meal-to-be. For once, everything was as it _should_ be.

“Hail Namira, goddess of the ancient dark!” she called out, lifting the token up. She took up her knife again, and began to carve into the corpse that had been Verulus but a moment ago. In not long at all, the man was broken into pieces of meat and gore, placed on plates around the table. As her coven began to enjoy the meal, she sat down, still trembling slightly, with a warm smile on her face.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up. “Sanyon,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Bearer of the ring,” the Altmer greeted her. “That is an honor. You wear it well, Eola.”

“I knew it,” Nimphaneth said over her meal of ribs. “I knew there was something special about you. I am proud to be in your coven, Champion.”

Eola just smiled and nodded. Down the table, she heard Banning and Hogni discussing something—dogs, it sounded like. She stood up and moved over to them, excusing herself from the head of the table. She slid into a spot on the bench beside the two men and leaned on the table, listening to their conversation.

“Do dogs count?” Banning was saying.

“Of course dogs don’t count,” Hogni replied, munching on a piece of bread. “Who was your first?”

Eola smiled, interrupted, “That question could mean _so_ many things, Hogni.”

“Eola,” Hogni turned to her in surprise, then scowled. “I only—His first meal is what I meant. Good meal, I meant. Real meat.”

Banning chuckled, then shrugged. “My friend, Marex. We went out hunting, and I thought he was an elk. Either way, I brought home meat for the table.”

“I’m sure you did!” Hogni replied, laughing at the reply. “Bloodiest beef in the Reach, eh?”

“Makes good food for the dogs, too. Teaches them to bite into people.” Banning smiled, though he didn’t seem to see quite the amount of mirth in it that Hogni did. He turned his attention to Eola instead. “Namira named you her champion, huh? That’s a great honor.”

“It is.” Eola nodded and moved closer. “And how are you enjoying the meal, Banning? Not too full on bread and wine I hope?”

“Ah, you know me, Eola. I always leave room for the main course.”

Hogni chuckled. “Aye, and a few other things,” he said under his breath. If he spotted the glare both Reachmen gave him, he ignored it. Eola gave Banning an apologetic look, then stood and moved to the other side of the table, sitting down with their final member.

“Lisbet, how are you enjoying the meal?”

The Nord woman looked up, her eyes lined with faint tears. “This is lovely, as always, Eola. I just wish Gunnar were here… He would be so proud of you.”

Eola smiled, nodded. Gunnar was Lisbet’s husband, one of their own members, killed by Forsworn. “Thank you, Lisbet. It’s been a joy to dine with you all these years. I am certain that in the Scuttling Void your husband looks on with pride.” She put a hand on Lisbet’s shoulder. “You honor him by coming to each of these feasts. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Or you.” Lisbet smiled back, then shoved Eola lightly. “Go enjoy your own feast! Or we will all be full before you’ve even eaten!”

Eola grinned, then stood and moved back to her seat at the table. Yes, this was right. Her friends were with her; the table was full of good, nourishing meat; and Namira had named a Champion in this era. She swore quietly that her Coven would never go hungry—or fear for anything—again as long as she was there for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Champion of Namira! Her long efforts finally recognized! What comes next for our 'heroes'? Stay tuned. Next up: Dragons come calling.
> 
> Eating a liver is really unsanitary, Eola. But, you know, so is eating people. So is living like a hagraven. Don't be Eola.
> 
> I'm not sure what's going on with some of the quotation marks being in serif font. I'll leave it in unless it becomes too annoying for readers.


	3. Eater of Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning just for violence this time, a bit of wearing. A short chapter. Our 'hero' comes face to face with an unwanted destiny.

_Champion of Namira!_ Nearly a week later, the words still rang in her mind, bringing a smile to her face as she wandered the hills.

It was a poor thing, to feel so excited over the new title. Namira taught humility, Namira taught patience, to revel in being low and going unseen. And yet—she was now both the leader of the wretched, and their Champion, both tasks of great honor. Her thoughts could not help but drift to Melka's prophecy, that some earth-shaking event was about to occur. The Lady must have some plan, must know something she was meant to do… but what it was, that eluded her. She knew one thing for certain: If Namira was naming a Champion, that meant she would need someone to fight in Her name. If someone was going to fight in the name of Namira, that meant danger could be coming to those in her charge, and Eola planned on being prepared.

And so, she found herself near Markarth, lingering beneath its high walls and keeping watch on her Coven. She could go unseen relatively easily--some illusion magic, a beggar's cloak, and knowing the backways of Markarth well had some help with that. Hogni, as always, sat at his stand. If he noticed her, he didn't say anything, though she did hear him mutter something about "Dirty Reachman"--though whether that was a cover for recognizing her or a shot at Degaine begging beside her, she wasn't certain. Lisbet was nowhere to be found, but that was normal for the busy shopkeeper. Eola checked in, once, begging near Cosnach's cousin Imedhnain, and asking after his employer. Lisbet's assistant hadn't suggested anything was amiss, so her fears were allayed there, at least. That left those back at Reachcliff Cave, or Banning.

She felt a tug of anxiety and moved towards the gates. No one paid attention to the beggar leaving--if anything, the guards seemed happy to have her go--but it mattered very little. The moment she moved onto the steps, however, an earth-shaking roar cut through the sky.

The guards both jerked their heads up, searching for the sound.

"Was that thunder?" she heard one whisper, as the other swore quietly.

The stables opened up, and Banning came running outside, followed shortly by Cedran, the old man assuring him, "It was only the wind, Banning..."

The look on the younger Reachman's face spoke otherwise, though. He had a haunted sort of expression, staring out at the hills, then up to the guards. When he saw Eola, he froze. She looked to the side, noting that the guards were thoroughly distracted, then slipped down the steps and over to the pair of them.

"I had an ill feeling," she said, in answer to Banning's questioning look.

"We've all got an ill feeling," he growled, then looked out to the hills again. "I know that sound. That's the sort of thing I heard when we were kids, when Ulfric came here and started Shouting."

"It is nothing, and Ulfric wouldn't be so bold now," Cedran repeated, then caught a better look the woman under the cloak. His expression changed entirely, from vague worry to concern, then a small smile. "Eola? I haven't seen you since you were -- much younger! You're alive?" He looked between them, and squinted at Banning. "I thought you said you had no idea where your old friends w--"

Cedran's line of questioning was cut short by another roar, much louder this time--and definitely not thunder. A small round of curses sounded from the onlookers, and the guards finally moved from their transfixed positions at the city gate, waving the small group towards them.

"Come on! Not safe out here for long, I bet!" one of the guards shouted. "Nothing gets in this valley that we don't want."

"Nothing but a couple armies," Banning muttered, pushing Cedran and Eola towards the gate. "You go on. I'm gonna get the dogs."

"But--" Eola started, then turned around. "Oh no. You do not stay out here alone. Cedran, why don't you go ahead with the guards..."

Cedran just shrugged, doing as everyone around suggested. He smiled gratefully at the guards, before ducking inside. Banning winced and looked at her. "I'm gonna get an earful about you when we get in there, aren't I?"

She smirked, then shrugged and moved towards the stable. The roaring came again. As he followed, Banning chanced to look up, and caught the first sight of sun glinting off scales, as a strange bird-like creature drew closer, and circled overhead. Finally, the guards caught on.

"DRAGON!" The guards acted quickly, one running up the stairs and sounding a loud horn blast that echoed off the cliffs. The other began to gather all the guards in reach, more of whom were now appearing atop the wall one by one.

Banning took another look at the creature, froze for a second, then rushed inside, dragging Eola with him. He didn't rest long, stopping by his bed long enough to grab a bow and quiver, before darting outside again, ignoring the barking hounds.

"You armed?" he asked quickly.

Eola just smiled, shrugging back her cloak to show her armor and the sword at her hip. "I am always armed," she said. "And my magic can make up whatever I lack."

"Good." He held the door open, just enough for her to get by. "We're gonna fight it."

As she brushed by him, she paused just enough to flash him a grin. "I would not think otherwise. You love your city too much."

"I love my business," he shot back, but quieted when she placed a finger on his lips. He could argue all he want, but the truth was that he hadn't even thought to live elsewhere. As much as he loved the wilds, and the coven, he always returned to the stables and his pack of wardogs. Or maybe he just couldn't bear to uproot himself to something new. Eola had long since given up on trying to get him to join a less rural, more wild, life. With a sigh and a shrug, he followed behind her, letting the door swing shut.

Outside, chaos had overtaken the walls of Markarth. The doors were held wide, for a few straggling farmers and travelers running towards the gate. Guards lined the walls, armed with whatever they could find--arrows, blades, even the odd small ballista pushed up to the wall's edge. The Markarth Guard were ready to fight the living legend descending upon their homes. Banning and Eola ran up the steps and turned to run up to the walls above them. None of the guards even stopped them, so focused on the monster flying their way.

"Ready your arrows!" came the cry. The sound of a few dozen arrows being drawn from their quivers sounded down the wall. Banning joined them, nocking an arrow and staring out through the window-slit. The expression on his face seemed focused, but Eola could see a tremble in his arms. She conjured lightning to her hands, then moved closer to him, smiling readily towards him.

"Frightened?" she asked.

He glanced to the side, narrowing his eyes, then back out the long window. "Not with you here. Just don't... you know... call attention to yourself."

"What, maybe bringing any dead guards back to life?" she said, lowering her voice so that hopefully no one but him would hear. "Carving off pieces of flesh?"

"Somethin' like that," he whispered.

Any further conversation stopped, as the call of "Stretch!" rang out over the wall. A few dozen bowstrings drew back with a creaking sound, followed by a hail of arrows that sped from the wall. Even from the distance, Eola could see all but a few bounce off the dragon's armored scales. Before they could react for another volley, the beast swooped low, returned the shots with a gout of flame that ran down the entire wall.

"Shit!" Banning ducked away from the opening, pinning himself against the protective stone. He winced as his hand touched the stone, now warm to the touch. Screams came from above them as the dragon's fire caught victims among the guards exposed to the air. Screams echoed behind them, too, as the people of the city realized what was coming for them. The two traded glances, and Eola got a gleam in her eye.

"No," Banning started. "Eola, stay--"

But she was already gone. With lightning crackling around her hands, she dashed through the gap between the lower defensive wall and the upper regions, skirting guards as she found her way up to the open air. One there, she had a better look at the action. A few charred corpses were all that was left of the unfortunate guards before her, and new ones were firing arrows at the dragon, as it tossed the remains of some poor soul down its throat. She grinned wildly, then thrust out her hands with a burst of electricity.

"I'll grind your bones for my meal!" she shouted. It got the dragon's attention--which was maybe not the best plan, in retrospect. A phalanx of guards formed, giving wide room to the madwoman with shock spells, and formed a wall between her and the beast. It stared at her, and a rumble formed in its throat. _Were those words?_

She barely had time to think it over, for another blast of flame came in her direction, and she scampered behind the convenient shield-wall. There were a few cries of pain, but less this time. This time, the guards had been ready. She heard footsteps, and a familiar shout of anger, as Banning arrived with a few more guards from below, letting fly at the dragon with another volley of arrows at close distance.

The stone beneath the creature reddened with dragon's blood, a collection of arrows sticking like dark, birdlike parasites from its hide. It roared, and landed on the wall, crawling towards them. Battle-cries rose up among the guards, and they rushed forward to stick it with axes, swords, maces, whatever they had in their hands. The dragon batted them away, crushing some with its tail, knocking others off the high wall, but its movements were slowing, and that heartened the remaining guards and their reinforcements.

"Come about!" she heard one yell. "SKYRIM FOR THE NORDS!"

The shout released a bout of anger and violence, as the guards began to overwhelm the scaled beast. Eola got off a few more blasts of magicka, hitting the open scales with jolts of lightning and spikes of ice. To the best of her ability, she restrained herself from bringing back any of the dead guards around her as thralls... that would bring the sort of unwanted attention Banning was afraid of. On his end, he got off a few more rounds before running out of arrows, then crouched behind one of the walls of guards.

"This might'a been a bad idea," he said, as the dragon shuddered and roared under the onslaught.

Eola laughed, loosing another thunderbolt. "You were the one who thought of it," she reminded him. "And look, Namira grants us victory."

Namira or not, the victory part was certain. The dragon had crumpled into a mess of wings and limbs, howling in a deep roar as its lifeblood ran down the walls of the city. Finally, someone got close enough to jam a greatsword into the creature's eye, and the words-- _no, the roar, not words, not..._ \--stopped, fading into silence as death took the ancient being.

Quiet passed over the entire city, as they stood staring at the dead dragon, then a cheer started among the guards, which grew to chaos as everyone began to talk at once. Dragons were back! Excitement buzzed through the survivors, victorious shouting at having slain something as legendary as that--and fear, worried whispers at what such a coming could mean. In all the talk, no one noticed as Eola bent down, and began to pick through the belongings of the dead. No one noticed as fire began to lick the edges of the dead dragon, either.

"Eola," Banning growled, moving over to her. "They are watching."

"No one will miss this," she whispered, slipping her new finds into her satchel. True words, it turned out. The flames around the dragon turned into a bonfire, and every guard and citizen near the wall turned their eyes towards it. No one paid the pair of them any attention, focused instead on the flames that formed into a pillar of white light, spiraling among the crowd. Eola caught sight of it only as she stood up, and frowned at the rush of light and wind.

"It is heading towards us," she observed quietly.

"Maybe we should run," he answered, gripping her shoulder. It was too late. The bright fire overtook the pair, coalescing around _her_. She felt a blast of cool air, then something hot, fiery, burning like smoke, before the light rushed in through her eyes, her mouth, her nose, and disappeared in a blast of thunder and air. In her mind, something roared like an angry fire, jaws she could not see or hear snapped shut, and the cold fire turned warm beneath her chest, until it faded away.

When it was gone, the quiet turned to deafening silence. Every guard on the wall, and every eye in the city, turned up to Eola, who stood still with her eyes wide, jaw slack, and a fear-stricken expression on her face.

"Dragonborn," someone whispered, reverently.

It broke the silence. The word spread among the crowd like a current, whispers of "Dragonborn" and "in all these years" and "couldn't be true" spreading among the gathered faces. The guard who had dealt the dragon's death blow jogged up, staring at Eola with an awestruck look. In fact, they were all staring--every guard and citizen who had helped with the dragon attack.

"What you just did-- You ate its soul, didn't you?" the guard asked, peering at her. "You're Dragonborn!"

Eola looked at him with big eyes, silently watching as everyone stared at her. All the guards... all the people on the wall... everyone below her... Even Banning had a look of concern and awe on his face.

He touched her arm, gently. "Eola? You alright? You look like you're about to faint."

 _Eater of dragons._ Eater of their souls. Feasting upon dead things only _she_ could touch, that turned to fire and ash and--

A small flick brought an Illusion spell to her hand. A simple thought brought it into action. Eola slipped out of sight, invisible, and ran down the steps as quickly as she could. Behind her, she heard Banning curse, and the guards begin to call out about 'the Dragonborn' and 'amazing' and all kinds of words she didn't want to hear.

Back to the dark and the filth of the world, yes, that was where she wanted to go. Crawl into a hidden hole and steal away from staring eyes and the bright glare of morning. Hide from dragons and anyone else in the dark and dingy recesses of the earth. _Home._ The need spurred her on quickly, feet slamming down hard on the dirt and grass, heading towards Hag Rock Redoubt, the closest safe haven she could think of.

 _Her._ It had always been about her. The dragon bone in Melka's divination, the gift of Namira's Ring, the oft-cursed blessing of the Old Gods. Not her Coven, not some danger coming to her friends.  _Her._  She had never endured so many stares, so many faces looking at her with that horrible mixture of awe, wonder, and fear. So many _seeing_ her when she preferred to walk in the shadows, unseen, a wicked, gross thing in a world that couldn’t care less about one small one-eyed Reachwoman.

Once she was far enough away and certain there was nothing around her but herself, the earth, and the sky, she curled into a small crouch in the dirt, held her head in her hands, and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the saga of the hero with the absolute worst moral compass Tamriel's had in a while. Next up: Yet more hagravens and a good ol' classic Refusal of the Call.


End file.
